


We Wish You a Merry STAR Labs

by RetroactiveCon



Series: Praying That It'll Be You [12]
Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Alcohol, Bad Puns, Holidays, Multi, Ugly Holiday Sweaters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-19
Updated: 2019-12-19
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:28:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21722257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RetroactiveCon/pseuds/RetroactiveCon
Summary: The holidays arrive, and in the spirit thereof, STAR Labs hosts a nondenominational Yuletide event. Caitlin proposes an ugly sweater competition; Cisco promises alcoholic eggnog potent enough to knock a speedster on his ass. Barry invites Joe, Iris, and Eddie. Hartley offers to stay home.
Relationships: Barry Allen/Hartley Rathaway, Eddie Thawne/Iris West, Ronnie Raymond/Caitlin Snow
Series: Praying That It'll Be You [12]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1562548
Comments: 6
Kudos: 86





	We Wish You a Merry STAR Labs

The holidays arrive, and in the spirit thereof, STAR Labs hosts a nondenominational Yuletide event. Caitlin proposes an ugly sweater competition; Cisco promises alcoholic eggnog potent enough to knock a speedster on his ass. Barry invites Joe, Iris, and Eddie. Hartley offers to stay home. 

“Why would I let you stay home?” Barry has unearthed the most hideous sweater known to mankind and is examining himself critically in the mirror. Hartley resists the urge to reach around and tweak a purple puffball that happens to sit about where his nipple should be. 

“I’m not much for parties.” He burrows deeper into his cardigan. It was Barry’s once, and Hartley swears it absorbed a little of his radiant heat. “Besides, Christmas—or Yuletide, whatever we’re calling it—is about family. If I’m there, I’ll unsettle your family.”

“So, what, I’m supposed to leave you here, alone and sad?” Barry meets his eyes in the mirror and pouts. “You’re family now too. I want you there with me.” 

“Prioritize Joe and Iris, sweet boy.” Hartley slips his hand under Barry’s sweater and strokes his belly. “I lost my family years ago. I don’t need to cost you yours, too.”

“That’s what you think?” Barry turns and catches him in his arms. “No. Joe and Iris see that I’m happy, and they respect that. Joe didn’t approve of Eddie, either, but he and Iris worked it out. They won’t mind you there, I promise.” 

Hartley leans up. He intends to kiss him, get him dazed and happy, and send him on his way. Instead, before their lips meet, the world spins. It resolves itself into STAR Labs, if STAR Labs was on the deck of a boat. Hartley clings to Barry’s arm to steady himself. 

“I need more warning before you do that.” 

Barry, curse him, is bright-eyed and flushed from the run. He’s smiling when he meets Hartley’s eyes. “You wouldn’t have come with me otherwise.” 

“No,” Hartley agrees. The floor under his feet settles to a gentle rocking motion rather than a sickening lurch. He risks taking a step on his own and sways violently to one side. “It’s like being drunk without the giddiness.”

“I’ve never seen you drunk.” Barry loops an arm around his waist. Against his will, Hartley leans into Barry’s chest to steady himself. “I guess I thought you don’t…”

“I don’t.” Hartley has already been forced to explain himself to Cisco. He has no desire to recount that particular story to Barry. “That doesn’t mean I never have. Now come on, let’s see what the others are doing.”

The Cortex is a scene of jubilant disarray. Martin and Clarissa Stein brought trays of traditional baked goods, which appear to have encountered the rest of the Firestorm trio: Ronnie and Caitlin are sharing bites of rugelach, while Jax is giving his compliments to Clarissa. Iris and Eddie are nuzzled under a sprig of mistletoe that somehow made its way to the door of the medbay. Joe and Harry are commiserating over eggnog while Jesse and Cisco compare hideous sweaters. Hartley takes note of every conversation before overhearing his name:

“Didn’t you invite Barry and Hartley?” 

“Barry? Yeah, of course.” Cisco picks up a star-shaped cookie and nibbles a corner. “But the Rathaway guy? I Hartley know him!” 

Hartley and Jesse groan in unison. This draws Cisco’s attention to the doorway, whereupon he proclaims, “Barry! Glad you made it! Hartley—wish you didn’t!” 

“Please,” Hartley scoffs. “You saved that pun for when you knew I would hear it.”

“Guilty as charged.” Cisco presses a reindeer-shaped mug of eggnog into Barry’s hands. “That’s for you. Caitlin-approved, guaranteed pleasant buzz all night long.” Hartley notices there’s no mug for him. Anyone else might take this for exclusion, but given the conversation he and Cisco had, he’s grateful. 

“Is there food?” Barry asks hopefully. 

“Yep.” Cisco turns a circle, pointing at various trays. “Cookies, rugelach, fudge—it’s Harry’s recipe, I wouldn’t eat it until you’re drunk—spiced cider, and sliders from Big Belly Burger if you’re in need of something more filling. And that’s the prize basket for whoever’s sweater is the ugliest, which, Hartley, you’re definitely not going to win.”

Hartley glances down at his cardigan. It’s a plain, pleasant forest green that will certainly not win him any competitions. “I can judge,” he says loftily. “I had no intention of entering.”

“Harry called the honor.” Cisco waves at Harry, who narrows his eyes in response. “Unless you think a two-man team is better suited for the job.” Before Hartley can answer, he snickers, “Better suited to judge a clothing competition, ha.” 

“I’ll discuss that with him, then.” He turns on his heel to stalk away. At the last second, he turns back and says, “Happy holidays, Cisco.”

“Happy holidays to you too, Grinch.” Cisco raises his mug of eggnog in a kind of salute. 

Harry welcomes having a companion with whom to judge ugly sweaters. While everyone else indulges in pastries and eggnog, they confer. Hartley had thought Barry’s puffball-laden, off-white sweater was the worst he’d ever seen, but that was before glimpsing Iris’s tinsel-bedecked Christmas-tree sweater. Harry appears partial to Dr. Stein’s Hanukkah sweater, which has a dreidel in the place of pride on the chest and bears the legend, “You spin me right ‘round, baby.” Finally, as it seems only right, they solicit Jesse’s help. 

“Oh, that’s easy,” she says. “Barry’s looks like something you would wear, Dad.” 

Harry bristles. Hartley bites down on his lower lip to stifle a laugh. “I suppose we have our winner, then.”

The ugliest sweater thus chosen, Hartley helps himself to rugelach and cider. He wants to step over and talk to the Steins, but en route, he’s distracted by Cisco. 

“And, uh, yeah! You two may never merge, because you’re, um. Stasilizers. Stabilizers. Dammit.” 

Ronnie and Jax peer at the whiteboard, which is filled with scribbles that don’t even remotely resemble equations. While they puzzle over Cisco’s doodles, Hartley steps closer and plucks the marker out of his hand. “Really,” he chides. “You should know better than to drink and derive.”

“I wasn’t going to,” Cisco complains. “But they asked, and I had to give them an answer because that’s what scientists _do.”_ He gestures expansively with his mug. Jax leaps out of range of sloshing eggnog.

“So scientists go a little overboard when they party, huh?” he appeals to Hartley. “Is this a nerd thing I should be aware of?”

Hartley rolls his eyes. “It’s a stress thing. Even before the particle accelerator explosion, STAR Labs parties tended to go overboard. All of us were stressed—it was a time to ‘let off steam,’ I think the saying is, with colleagues. You don’t know the feeling?”

“Nah, man, not since I stopped playing football. No team to let off steam with.” Briefly, Jax looks crestfallen. After a moment’s thought, he nods at Ronnie and Dr. Stein. “I dunno, guess I might again someday. It’s cool, y’know? Being back on a team.” 

In unison, the two other members of Firestorm turn and give him fond glances. Jax gives a soft chuckle. Hartley watches, slightly envious. He can only imagine how it feels to connect with two other people at a psychic level—to feel their fondness, their exasperation, their willingness to stay. “I suppose it is,” he agrees. 

Warm arms wrap around him from behind and he reconsiders his envy. Barry may not be psychic, but he’s so sensitive to others’ moods that he acts like it. Whenever Hartley feels isolated or out of place, Barry can tell. “Hartley, hey. I missed you.”

“I’ve been right here the whole time, sweet boy.” He turns around and is greeted by a whiff of alcohol strong enough to temporarily block his sense of smell. “Oh, whoa. You’re drunk.”

“Just kinda buzzed.” Barry gives him a lazy grin. “Cisco toned it down from last time.”

Last time, Cisco’s concoction sent Barry into a stupor and would almost certainly have killed anyone without an enhanced metabolism. If he hadn’t diluted it, Hartley would have done so himself. “That’s a relief. Enjoying yourself?”

Barry nods. Apropos of nothing, he giggles and taps Hartley’s nose. “Boop.” 

“Adorable,” Hartley murmurs, for no reason other than to watch Barry blush. He’s not disappointed. Barry ducks his head to one side, his eyelashes fluttering and his cheeks turning bright red. “Should we reconvene for the great sweater judgment?”

“You’ve been judging my sweater since I put it on.” 

Hartley snorts. Barry lacks a filter at the best of times; drunk, he apparently doesn’t remember that he ought to have one. “That much is true. Come on, sweet boy.”

Everyone reconvenes. Most of them are in various states of tipsiness: Caitlin is draped over Ronnie’s arm, giggling, the Firestorm trio are all relaxed and grinning (Hartley blames Stein), and Joe is leaning against the bank of monitors. Harry, who looks sober save splotches of color high in his cheeks, pronounces, “It took some debate and the addition of a third judge—” Jesse waves “—but we have decided on a winner. Barry Allen, that is a truly hideous sweater. Come claim your prize.”

Barry wraps his arms around Hartley. “Already have my prize,” he slurs. 

Hartley nudges him. “No, he means you won. There’s a basket of chocolate and things…go get that.”

“Oh!” At that, Barry lights up. “I won a _thing!_ Okay!” He races in the vague direction of the table to claim the prize basket. Rather than collect his winnings, he slams into the wall, bounces backward, and topples to the ground. “That was _not_ where that wall was a minute ago.”

Cisco erupts into peals of laughter. Eddie helps him to his feet, pats his back, and says, “Yeah, buddy, running tends to do that.”

Blessedly, the party winds down thereafter. Hartley takes the first opportunity to steer his drunken speedster toward the door. “Come on, sweet boy. Make your goodbyes.”

Barry’s goodbyes take an additional twenty minutes. Hartley makes a circuit of the room in half that time, farewelling his coworkers, sharing a curt “See you” with Joe, and thanking Clarissa for coming. 

“I hope you enjoyed yourself.”

She laughs. “Oh, Martin usually keeps me far away from his coworkers—for years he’s done that—so this was an experience for me, too. I’m glad he’s found himself with such a lively group. Academics can be so…”

“Stuffy?” Hartley ventures with a lopsided smile. “That cannot be said of STAR Labs.”

Barry darts over. “I think I’m ready to go now!” He trips over his shoelace, topples forward, and catches himself on Hartley’s shoulder. Hartley staggers. 

“Easy, easy. You’re never drinking anything Cisco gives you ever again.”

As they walk away, Hartley is sure he hears Clarissa laugh at them. That’s only fair. Tomorrow, when he’s less worried for Barry’s safety, he might laugh too. 

“Glad you came?” Barry murmurs as Hartley bundles him into the elevator.

“Hmm?”

“Are you glad you came? That you didn’t stay home?”

“Oh.” Hartley presses the button for the ground floor and preemptively wraps an arm around Barry’s waist. He’s been in this very elevator when he was drunk—it isn’t fun. “Yes, I guess I am.”

“Good.” Barry cuddles up against him. “I am too.”


End file.
